


To Love, Lord

by escspace



Series: Side Stories [2]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: Ragar enters the Lord’s throne room one night requesting to be sentenced to forced eternal sleep.
Relationships: Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia, Ragar Kertia & The Previous Lord, Ragar Kertia/The Previous Lord
Series: Side Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912540
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: The Modern Kertia Expansion Pack: Keeping Up with the Kertias





	To Love, Lord

Ragar keeps a silent vigil by the looming arch of the entrance to the Lord’s royal hall until the last of the Lord’s court have left. A breeze passes through the courtyard, touseling his long hair as the columns cast him in shadow from the smile of the moon. Only when Ragar is certain that none other than his Lord remain does he peer around the wall and step beyond the threshold of the arch to present himself before whom he serves.

"My Lord," he greets and bows low, hand over his chest. He does not straighten until the Lord beckons him to, and even then, his eyes remain respectfully lowered. Perhaps even more astutely than usual, as Ragar does not know if he even deserves to be before the Lord when he has been contemplating near traitorous thoughts. His mind turns like a tempest storm. He imagines that it feels akin to what humans call insomnia even if it is rare for nobles to sleep. Reality seems to extend before him into a forked path. Before the Lord, he stands at the crossroads.

“What has troubled you, Ragar?”

He refrains from tugging at his mask when he realizes the transparency in his expression. Keeping his face always tilted downwards just so, Ragar beseeches his Lord: “Please, my Lord, I ask that you sentence me to forced eternal sleep.”

A silence follows that with every moment, weighs down upon Ragar. He feels the pressure of a possible transgression but steadfastly awaits his verdict. Finally, the Lord tilts his head and shifts forward on his throne, hair slipping over his shoulders. “Now, why would I ever do that, Ragar?”

Ragar is slow to answer. The audacity of his confession tightens his throat. “I...do not know if I will be able to do so myself, Lord...” He looks up at him. “When the time comes for us clan leaders to follow our Lord into eternal sleep, I fear I might be swayed to stay among the waking.”

His Lord’s eyes are ever piercing. He looks at Ragar for a long moment, something stunningly intimate behind his gaze. Even when he has no need to look into the clan leader’s mind or soul, Ragar becomes acutely aware of how many centuries he has stood by the Lord’s side, and all of those centuries now seem to lie bare before them both. He is his Lord’s and so has no secrets to keep from him.

The Lord smiles knowingly, the curve of his lips both mysterious and familiar to Ragar.

“My Lord...”

“Is it the human?”

Ragar is silent.

The Lord motions for him to step forward. “Come, Ragar, at my throne.”

Ragar bows his head and obeys, steps as silent as ever, sound itself restrained in deference to authority. He kneels before the Lord’s feet and does not dare breathe when he feels the gentle touch of his Lord’s fingertips along a lock of hair framing his downturned face. Closing his eyes, he braces himself for the pressure of Ragnarok to break his body and rest his soul, but it does not come. The Lord’s fingers only trail slowly to the end of his hair before falling off. Even this simple motion leaves Ragar pondering upon his Lord tirelessly. His Lord, powerful, perplexing, and kind; his Lord, whom he had sworn to serve the moment he was able to understand the concept of his servitude; his Lord, to whom his will belongs.

“My loyal Ragar,” the Lord begins, voice quiet, soothing, deep—a sound that Ragar’s very soul tunes to. His hand drifts to hover just over Ragar’s chest as if to cast a spell, as if to enchant him if he were not already enchanted. “Your heart aches beautifully. Tell me, what does it compel you to do?” His voice is a mere hush against Ragar’s ear. The silence around them shimmers.

“Unspeakable things, my Lord.”

The Lord’s gaze washes him like absolution, and there is a precious sentimentality in his voice. “To love is the most exquisite burden one can bare, is it not?” The Lord sighs fondly, and Ragar reveres the soft sound like a gift. “There is still time to make your decision, Ragar.” He smiles. “You have served me and Lukedonia dutifully for centuries. You have proven your virtues without question. Perhaps I shall remind you that your will and life still remain your own, Ragar.”

Ragar stares downward contemplatively. “Yes, my Lord...”

“Will you look at me, Ragar?”

Ragar blinks. He swallows, something both wonderful and awful squeezing in his chest, feeling as though his very breath could be impious. “Yes...Lord.” He tears his eyes upwards. In this proximity, looking up at his Lord nearly overwhelms him with impudent emotion, but with effort, Ragar lets himself be welcomed into the Lord’s gaze. The red of his eyes calls to the red in Ragar’s own blood, compelling him forward to stare deeper, to watch more carefully, to take in all of those rare details of the luminescent, swirling hue that binds all nobles.

The Lord’s smile is full of all the meaning Ragar can desire. “Ragar, how wondrous, how pitiful you are...” Again, the Lord reaches forward to take a lock of hair between his delicate fingers. It feels, to Ragar, like the lovely beckoning of a siren. “And how marvelous you will be, by my side in eternal slumber or far, far away from Lukedonia, living new lives in new lands with new people.” Slowly, he sinks back into his throne. “How marvelous...”

Ragar bows his head once more. “Yes, my Lord.”


End file.
